Saruman, Conjurer of Cheap Tricks
by LadyShadowcat
Summary: Sam is no artist, but he does spend most of class drawing frowning plants in the margins of his notes. AU, crackfic.


Sam adores his biology class. Or, more accurately, he used to adore it, back when all they did was discuss plants and how plants grow and what makes plants beautiful. Those were the days of plant-based biology. These, unfortunately, are the days of animal biology.

These are the days of Sam's eternal unhappiness.

Even though he knows the old unit couldn't last forever, it still comes as a surprise when he finds himself looking at animal cells rather than familiar structured plant cells. He misses cell walls. And chloroplasts. Beautiful, lovely, green chloroplasts.

Sam is no artist, but he does spend most of class drawing frowning plants in the margins of his notes.

To make things worse, it's winter. He can't even go home and drown his sorrows in mulch and fertilizer, because there's snow on the ground. He isn't sure how he survives the winter.

Of course, Pippin tells him the reason he can't remember last winter is because he was drunk the whole time, but Sam is sure that isn't actually the case. Not for him. Still, it's not such a bad idea, is it?

These are dangerous thoughts entering Sam's mind, but he hopes he can't be considered responsible for any changes in his behaviour. He's not the one who thought it would be a good idea to learn about animal cells.

Frodo guesses people's reactions to him are split 50-50. Maybe there's a more exact measurement, and if he were mathematically inclined, he'd figure it out (but he's not mathematically inclined in the slightest).

Division One is those who say he's an outcast. They say he's weird, and his uncle is weird (they actually aren't wrong about that), and variations thereof. They're a negative lot, really, and Frodo would ignore them if they didn't make it so hard to do so.

"Don't listen to them," Division Two says. Division Two is mostly comprised of females, although there are exceptions - Sam, Merry, and Pippin being the main ones. Division Two seems to think that Frodo is constantly in need of hugs. Maybe he is, but he still isn't sure why.

"You could see one of the school counsellors," Pippin suggests one afternoon.

"But there's nothing wrong," Frodo reminds him.

"Is that why you spend all your time making anguished faces while looking forlornly out the window?" Merry asks. Frodo thinks he might have a point.

"That's because I'm trying to remember," Frodo explains. "I know I'm supposed to be doing something very important, but I can't remember what it is."

His friends roll their eyes. They've heard this excuse thousands of times. It still doesn't make any sense.

"I think," Pippin says as he sticks another greasy library book onto the shelf, "that we've probably spent more time in detention than actual classes." There is no embarrassment or worry in his voice. In fact, he sounds very pleased about this.

"We should have a party," Merry suggests.

"It's quite a cause for celebration," Pippin agrees. "Should we invite Frodo and Sam?"

Merry thinks about it. "Let's invite everyone," he decides. "Boromir will want to come, and Gimli. Best not invite Strider though. He's too uptight."

"What about Legolas?" Pippin asks.

"We'll need a few girls," Merry agrees. "If we invite Strider, he can bring his sexy girlfriend."

"Sssh," Pippin warns.

Strider's sexy girlfriend happens to be the daughter of the librarian. They'll be re-shelving books as punishment from now until next year if he overhears them talking about her. He'd suspect worse punishment, but after trying every form of discipline possible, the staff have decided that this is the most productive form of detention for the two of them.

"Isn't Boromir's brother dating that hot blonde girl?" Merry asks. "She could come along."

"We'd have to invite Faramir too then," Pippin points out.

"So you know his name now?" Merry frowns.

"Faramir's a very nice boy," Pippin assures him. "Actually, I hear he wants to assistant teach with Coach Grey."

Kids these days.

Coach Grey finds himself thinking this phrase very often. They're very lazy. And they complain too much.

"In my day," he tells them, "we had to run four miles each day - as a warm up - for physical education. It was uphill both ways."

About a third of the class believes him. Of the remaining two thirds, roughly half doesn't believe he was ever young, and the other half doesn't care.

Truthfully, Coach Grey doesn't care either. He wants to be teaching a Literature course. Or at least a foreign language; something a bit more intellectual than kicking and throwing things around a room, which is where Principle White decided he would do the most good.

Tool. It's a miracle this building is large enough to house his ego.

"All right, kids," he announces to the class in front of him. "You'll be running a mile in class today. If it takes you longer than eight minutes, you're starting over."

He ignores the complaints of 'again, really?' because he isn't here to entertain. He's here to coach, and he's going to whip these youngsters into shape if it's the last thing he does.

How Legolas manages to churn out so many hideous nature paintings in such a short amount of time is a complete mystery to Gimli, especially since the crowd of girls surrounding the guy is never smaller than flipping enormous.

"I feel such a strong connection to the forest," Legolas explains to someone as he painstakingly adds another leaf to the tree he's painted. It's an ugly tree. It's an ugly tree that looks like every other ugly tree he's painted for this class.

Gimli, for his part, feels like Legolas is full of shit, and that his fist would like to make a strong connection with Legolas's face.

He tries to stop glaring and continues working on the clay pot he's working on. It's a nice pot, thankfully devoid of leaves and flowers, and the number of compliments that he's received on it now totals at zero, even though it's so much closer to that whole idea of "one with the Earth" that Legolas likes so much.

Clay is the ultimate expression of the Earth - clay is Earth. Paintings can only represent the Earth, after all. Gimli wonders why Legolas doesn't just take up wood carving.

"That's a nice pot," a voice says. Gimli doesn't have to look up to know it's Legolas who says it, even though he didn't hear him approaching. "Did you make it?"

"No," Gimli says, because it's such a stupid question. He wonders who Legolas thinks made it, but he finds he's afraid to ask.

Boromir is a better sportsman than Aragorn. Yes. This is a fact. This is a fact that he is willing to prove time and time again, as many times as he needs to.

And yes, it's a personal vendetta. Boromir used to be the Big Man at school because his dad is a god in the corporate world, and everyone knows Boromir is set to inherit the company.

When Aragorn showed up, and with one sentence - "I'm related to kings" - recruited an army of loving followers, Boromir lost a bit of his reputation, through no fault of his own.

He's doing a nice job of gaining it back, though. He's kicked Aragorn's ass in gym class every day for the last two months, and it's been worth the reprimanding from Coach Grey. Very worth it.

Boromir doesn't like upstart people like Aragorn upstaging him. He hopes he's making his message clear.

Aragorn once gave a very nice speech about responsibility in one of his classes. He received an A on that speech. Full points. Best grade in the class.

He'd left out an important part, though. He hadn't mentioned that being a Hall Monitor is all about responsibility. It's about preventing mistakes, stopping trouble, and steering miscreant youths towards a better future. It's quite a heavy burden on his shoulders, but someone has to do it.

It's a duty, but a duty that Aragorn loves. Sometimes he imagines that he's a real hero.

Well, his girlfriend likes to tell him that, which admittedly helps quite a bit, although he does wish she would stop with that "I'd give anything for you" rubbish. He's a hall monitor, she's the librarian's daughter. That's a bit too dramatic given their situation.

Aragorn doesn't like to get a big head, though. It's his ultimate goal to be "one of the boys," and he'll do what it takes to achieve that image rather than being seen as a power-hungry tool. He lets other people win sometimes.

Depending on the person, he might even let them win every time, if he thinks that's what they want. Having friends is important. Aragorn knows this well; after all, it's one of the things he frequently tells miscreant students.

And Aragorn doesn't forget his own lessons.

One by one the Fellowship wakes up. The gates of Moria are still closed, and for a second they're all confused by this realization.

"Thorin's beard, what was that?" Gimli exclaims, voicing what they're all thinking.

"Was that a vision of the future?" Pippin asks, sounding a bit too excited.

Gandalf frowns, deep in thought. "It was a vision of something, I am certain of that. I can't imagine what its purpose was, however." 

"It must have been a trick of Saruman's," Aragorn suggests.

"That makes absolutely no sense at all," Merry replies, slightly less happy than his cousin about their collective hallucination.

"I would guess he sent that vision in order to demoralize us," Gandalf decides.

"Or to slow us down," Legolas adds.

"It was an odd choice," Boromir says.

"He is not without a sense of humor," Gandalf remarks sadly. "We must not waste any more time, however, for if his plan was to halt our progress, he has certainly succeeded."

The troubling vision is soon forgotten, as their focus turns to the firmly closed gates.

Meanwhile, Saruman laughs.

A/N: I'm so sorry. I had to write it. In my defence, I did write a fourteen page academic paper on Tolkien this week, so that should balance this out. 


End file.
